


Just a (stubborn) kid from Brooklyn

by Sheeana



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-24 06:19:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/631375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheeana/pseuds/Sheeana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three conversations Steve Rogers had with Bucky Barnes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a (stubborn) kid from Brooklyn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CrunchySalad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrunchySalad/gifts).



 

**1942**

 

"You gonna try again? How many's that, three times now? Planning on making it four?" Bucky said. He was leaning against the counter of the drugstore, watching while Steve thumbed through the coins in the change pocket of his wallet.

"As many times as it takes," said Steve, while he counted out pennies for the clerk. The last time was the third time, and he was certain of it because this was the third time he'd had this exact conversation with Bucky, down to the way Bucky was leaning on one elbow with one leg casually crossed over the other.

After the clerk had taken his change, he slid the candy bar across the counter to Bucky, and pocketed the cough drops.

"They're never gonna take you," Bucky said, pushing off from the counter. "You've got, what, sixteen medical conditions?"

"Thanks," Steve said dryly.

"Nah, come on." Bucky bumped into his shoulder in a deliberate gesture of peace-making and affection as they walked out the door. "I didn't mean it like that. I meant you're better off helping out here. They need guys with brains."

"To work in a factory? To sit in an office? Guys are dying out there. Good people are giving their lives." Steve distinctly recalled using almost exactly the same words, the last time, and the time before that. He'd probably be using them again the time after this. And if Bucky weren't his best friend, and if Bucky didn't always have his back no matter how sticky a situation he got himself into, he might have been genuinely irritated.

Bucky stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. His thumb brushed against Steve's collarbone, slipping just beneath his shirt, touching him with all the familiarity that came with this many years of friendship. He squeezed, gently, and smiled in that bright, faithful way he always did, and Steve sighed. 

"You're a good friend, Bucky."

"That supposed to mean something?" Bucky raised both his eyebrows, so Steve reached out to lightly punch him on the shoulder. 

"It's a compliment," he said, with the beginnings of a smile. "So I thought I heard you saying something earlier about a new show at the cinema...?"

 

**1943**

 

"I gotta say, I'm glad you're on our side," Bucky said, panting as they surveyed the Hydra outpost - or what remained of it, which wasn't much. Just the charred skeleton of a small building, three bodies showing telltale signs of Bucky's handiwork, four more with signs of Steve's, and a trench dug around the outpost. The others were off pursuing the Hydra men who'd escaped after the initial blast and securing the perimeter; it was up to Bucky and Steve to secure the outpost.

"I'm just a kid from Brooklyn," Steve replied in rote, as he slid down into the trench, shield up and covering his chest and face. After a cursory glance around the surface, Bucky dropped down beside him to the frozen muddy ground.

"You're a lot more than that now," said Bucky, back to the wall as they reached a corner.

"No, I'm not. I'm the same guy I've always been, and it's the same guy I'm always gonna be. As long as I wear the stars and stripes."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. At least you're still," and Bucky had to stop for a moment to step out and point his pistol around the corner, "Still really stubborn."

"Thanks."

"That's a compliment," Bucky said dryly, giving Steve a slight nod. 

"... Thanks," Steve said again, this time with half of a smile. They moved into position at the next sharp turn together, Steve with his shield up, Bucky at his back, falling into place like they'd done since they were little kids.

 

**2011**

 

Bringing flowers felt wrong, so Steve didn't do that. He didn't wear the uniform, either, or the costume. The costume was too gaudy, and the uniform was too old-fashioned. They both felt like they belonged on a different man.

He'd resisted this for so long, the same way he resisted picking up the phone to call anyone who was left. The problem wasn't that he couldn't be patient. He'd always been patient. Stubborn, patient, same thing. The problem was that he couldn't stay still forever. Eventually he had to start moving, even if he didn't know which direction he was heading yet.

The grass was a brilliant shade of green at this time of year. If Bucky had to be buried anywhere (except he wasn't, because his file said his body was somewhere at the bottom of an icy gorge, never recovered), this was probably the best place. He was a soldier, and his name belonged with the rest. Steve wandered between the rows of carefully-tended graves until he found what he was looking for, letters carved into the stone: _James Buchanan Barnes._

For awhile, he stood in front of it without saying anything. Seventy years. Had it really been almost seventy years? 

"War's over," he said, finally. 

He exhaled. There had to be some kind of trick to living in the future. Bucky probably would have gotten it right away. 

"Y'know, I think you would've loved it here. Not quite how you imagined it, probably. No flying cars. I guess Howard got that wrong. Actually," he said, dryly, "I guess he got a lot of things wrong."

Out of habit, he started to make a salute, but he stopped halfway, so all he ended up doing was making a halfhearted gesture at Bucky's empty grave. As if it was what he'd intended in the first place, he curled his fingers in to make a fist, and then tucked his hand into the pocket of his jacket. For a long, silent moment, he stared at Bucky's name, like he could change something by staring at it. It was in the past, though. Over and done. He exhaled again. Then he had to turn around and go, to leave these soldiers to rest in peace. 

There'd be something, eventually. He was here for a reason. Maybe he wasn't just a kid from Brooklyn anymore - out of place, out of time, but there had to be a reason. He had to believe that.


End file.
